Can't Say A Word
by ScarletFBL
Summary: Greg is rendered mute after he witnesses something horrific. NickGreg, AU, extreme violence, and minor character deaths.


Title: "Can't Say a Word"

Author: ScarletFBL

E-mail: M

Pairings: Nick/Greg, Gil/Warrick

Archive: Yes, but let me know.

Series: 1?

Notes: In this story, **NO ONE** is a CSI, but Sara. Everyone else is police officers (excluding the lab rats, who are still lab rats). Greg has a sister named Aundrea. I don't really know if Greg has siblings, but he does in my story. I don't know the names of Greg's parents, so I've made up my own.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The little girl's name is pronounced "On-dray-ah".

Warnings: AU, VERY dark, extreme violence, minor character deaths, OOCness, and random POV changes (I still haven't figured out how not to do that).

Summery: Greg is rendered mute after he witnesses something horrific.

**Listened to: _"Lover I Don't Have to Love"_- by Bright Eyes**

**3:16 A.M.**

Greg groaned and rolled over as he was being shaken awake. "Please, Mom, just five more minutes," He mumbled.

"It is not your mother, Hojem. Wake up. I have something to show you."

Greg frowned in his half-sleep state. If it wasn't his mother, then who was it? His eyes shot open as he finally recognized the voice. He sat up and then groaned again, this time, in pain. Stupid bunk beds! He clutched at his forehead. "Ow!" He turned to looked at his grandfather, apprehension in his eyes. He let his hand drop. "Um, hi, Papa Olaf. It's nice to see you again," he said, cautiously. He looked at the other man. He looked ragged and dirty and he smelled awful. He tried to move away from him, but the old man's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Get out of bed, Hojem. I have something to show you." He proceeded to pull Greg out of the bed.

He allowed himself to be pulled from his bed. He didn't know if his protesting would cause the man to do something irrational. The man was unstable, always had been for as long as he could remember. What was he doing here? _How_ did he get here? From what Greg could remember, his grandfather was in an insane asylum back in Norway, where his mother and father had put him one year ago.

The old man had started to get more and more violent with each passing day. No one knew what to do to help him. Sending him away was their only option. Greg was sad to see him go. Papa Olaf had always been nice to him, nicer than he had ever been to anyone else. He seemed to become…. i less /i insane when he was around Greg. It was only recently that his parents had told him the extent of his grandfather's illness, after they had left Norway.

Greg swallowed hard and wondered what his grandfather could possibly want with him. He started to look back, wondering if Aundrea had been awaken.

"Do not worry, Hojem. She will not miss anything. She is already waiting for us in the living room," Papa Olaf said, seeing him look back for his younger sister on the top bunk. They walked into out the living room and Greg froze at the sight before him.

His mother, his father, and his sister were tied up on the floor, there mouths were taped shut. Little Aundrea, the only one with her hands bound in front of her, whimpered and reached out for him with her bound hands, tears running down her face.

"Oh, my God!" Greg cried. He started to go over to her, but her was jerked back.

"No. Stay right here, Hojem," Papa Olaf said. He pushed Greg down onto the couch.

"B-but, Papa, we can't leave them like that!" He said. He tried to get up again, but was pushed was even more forcefully. His head hit the fall behind the couch and he began to cry. He was so scared, now.

Papa Olaf saw this and kneeled down before him and took his face between his hands. "No, shh, don't cry, Hojem. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you, never you, Hojem." He caressed Greg's face, trying to sooth him, but it only made Greg cry even harder. He tsked and sat back on his haunches. He stared at his beloved grandson crying his eyes out, and it made him angry. He stood up and turned to the people lying on the floor. He looked upon the lone male in contempt.

He walked over to Andrew Sanders and picked him up by the scruff of his neck. He shook him harshly. "It is your fault he is crying! If you had not taken him away from me, then we would still be together, and he would be happy!" He punched the helpless man viciously in his face. He smiled in satisfaction as he felt bones give under his knuckles. He snatched the duct tapes from the man's mouth, causing him to cry out again. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Andrew Sanders spat in his father-in-law's face, blood and spittle ran down Papa Olaf's face. "I have nothing to say to you, you monster!" He said. He turned to his son. Greg sat there, horrified at what he was seeing. "Greg! Greg, I want you to take you sister and get out of here! Don't worry about us, protect your sister," he said.

Greg seemed to snap out of his trance, and he got up and ran over to his sister. He wiped the tears from his eyes as he tried to untie the knots around the little girls wrists.

Papa Olaf growled and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a knife, the biggest knife that Greg had ever seen. It was already slightly bloody. He used the knife to wipe away the spittle in a smooth shaving motion. "Oh, you should not have done that, little Andrew. You made Hojem disobey me. A boy should never disobey his grandfather," he said, in a singsong voice. In one quick motion, he brought the knife down and into the other man's gut.

"No!" Greg cried out. He wanted to run over to his father, but he knew that he had to get his sister untied so that they could have a chance. He continued to try to untie Aundrea, but his hands were shaking too hard, and he couldn't seem to get a grip on the ropes. He whimpered in frustration.

Papa Olaf dragged the knife through the other man's flesh, only stopping when the knife came in contact with bone and couldn't go any further. The wet, gurgling sounds that the man was making was the 'Death Rattle'. It was music to his ears. He moaned as the sound seemed to go through his body, caressing his every nerve. When no sounds came from the other man, he dropped him to the floor. Andrew Sanders was dead before he hit the floor.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Greg cried out over and over. It was like some horrible nightmare, and he just couldn't wake up. Why wouldn't he wake up? He gave up trying to untie his sister, and pulled her up and picked her up into his arms. Her ten year old body was a little heavy, but nothing that he couldn't handle if he had to. And he i had /i to.

He backed away from his grandfather, who was now covered in his father's blood, and other things that Greg didn't even want to think about.

Papa Olaf moved toward him. He stepped over Greg's mother, and that's when Greg realized that she hadn't moved through the whole thing, hadn't made a sound. She was already dead.

Greg heaved when the realization hit him. His mother was dead! And, now, so was his father! He turned his head and vomited so harshly that he lost hold of his sister. She fell out of his arms and tumbled onto the floor. She cried out upon impact. He tried to pick her back up, but he was being so violently ill, that it was sending his whole body into convulsions. He couldn't even keep himself up. He fell onto his hands and knees and continued to be sick away from his sister. He heaved again as the smell of the mess he'd made wafted back up to him.

Papa Olaf quickly came forward and snatched Aundrea up from the floor. She screamed from behind her tape and kicked her legs. She managed to Kick Papa Olaf in the thigh, several times, but the older man didn't even seem to notice.

Hearing her muffled screams, Greg turned around and saw her in his deranged grandfather's arms. He wiped the vomit from his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly stood up. "Please, Papa, don't hurt her. I'll do anything, just don't hurt her," he pleaded, weakly. Being sick had taken a lot out of him, literally and figuratively.

Papa Olaf looked at the little girl squirming in his arms. "Why are you worried about her? I came here to free you from them. They took you away from me. I thought that you would be happy to see them die. They were holding you against your will. Why does she matter to you!" He yelled and held the little girl by her hair. She dangled by her sandy-blond hair, helplessly.

Greg lunged forward and tried to take her from Papa Olaf, but he was too late.

Papa Olaf brought the knife down and sliced through her throat so viciously that he nearly rendered her head from her neck.

Greg fell to his knees only a foot from the older man. He put his face into his hands and cried. He hadn't been able to protect his sister. He hadn't been able to protect anyone.

Papa Olaf carelessly threw the girl's lifeless body next to her mother's. He almost felt remorse for having to kill his own daughter, but she had chosen her path. She had chosen to listen her foreign husband and lock him up in that asylum, and then move back with him to America. She had done too much for him to ever forgive her.

He looked down and his grandson. He gently lifted him up and walked him ever to the couch and sat him down. The body had gotten much bigger since the last time he had seen him. He cast another disdainful look at Greg's parents. They had stolen moments of Greg's life from him, moments that he had a right to be a part of. He looked back at Greg.

"Shh, Hojem, do not cry. I am here. I will take care of everything. You do not ever have to worry about being away from me again," he said, kneeling down to put himself on Greg's level. He pulled Greg's hands away from his face.

Greg just continued to cry, sobbing so harshly that he could barely breath. He was so scared, now. Was he going to die next? How was he going to be killed? Was he going to be eviscerated like his father? Was his throat going to be slit from ear-to-ear like some grotesque smile like his sister? Or was he going to be killed in some sort of mystery manner like his mother had been. He started to hyperventilate, choking on his own sobs, and spit. His nose was running, but he didn't care. He was going to die.

Papa Olaf reached forward and wiped the snot away with his bear hand. He simply wiped it on the couch next to Greg. "Please, stop crying, Hojem," he said.

Greg continued to cry.

Papa Olaf began to lose his patience. "Don't you understand that I have done this all for you? What more do you want? STOP CRYING!" He stabbed the knife into the couch next to Greg's head.

Greg screamed and jerked away. He shuddered and then covered his face in embarrassment as he lost control of his bladder. He could feel urine running down the inside of his legs to pool underneath him on the couch.

Papa Olaf slapped his hand away from his face. He grabbed Greg's face in his hand and jerked him forward, his fingers digging into the soft skin of Greg's face. He reached behind him and pulled the knife from the couch. He pressed the knife to Greg's cheek.

"Do you want to die? Do you, Hojem? One word, and I will end it all for you." He ran the knife down Greg's cheek and smeared blood over it.

Greg began to shake again as he looked into his grandfather's eyes. It was a miracle that he didn't end up cutting off his nose. He was terrified. Should he answer? Should he stay quiet?

"Come on, Hojem. Just one word," Papa Olaf said in a sing-song voice.

Did he want to live? Did he want to die? What did he have to live for? His whole family had just been killed before his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again. Still nothing. His eyes widened in alarm. He clutched at his throat. Why couldn't he say anything? He began to draw in great gasping breaths.

Papa Olaf backed away from him. "What are you doing? Stop doing that! I do not like you doing that! Stop!" He yelled, but Greg didn't seem to hear him. He clutched at his throat and kicks, trying to make a sound, anything come out of his throat. Papa Olaf was about to pry Greg's hands away from his throat when the door was kicked open.

"Freeze! LVPD!" Greg looked up as a police officer burst into the house and stood in the door way, his gun trained on Papa Olaf. Another officer came in behind him and assessed the surroundings. His green eyes widened.

"Stokes, we got three possible db's to the right," he said to the officer in front of him. He grabbed his walkie-talkie and repeated his findings to the operator back at the department. "We're gonna need back-up here, and ambulances, stat!" The walkie-talkie made a static noise before the operator confirmed she understood him that back-up was on it's way. He trained his gun on the man standing bloodied before him.

Papa Olaf stood staring at them, knife still clutched in his hand. "Why do things keep on getting in my way?" He shouted. "Are you trying to take Hojem away from me, too?" He asked the cop named Stokes. Without warning, he ran forward, knife poised to inflict some serious damage.

"Don't come any closer! I'm warning you!" Stokes yelled, but the man kept coming. He had no choice. He let out two rounds into the man's chest. The man went down like a ton of bricks.

The other police officer walked forward cautiously and kicked away the knife that was still clutched in Papa Olaf's hand, his gun trained on his the whole while. "Fuck! Did you see, that? He just charged at you like some sort of rabid animal! Too bad the fucker's still alive," The officer said, seeing the fallen man's back rise and fall with each ragged breath. He quickly handcuffed the perp.

"Brown, don't, okay!" Stokes said, his eyes falling upon Greg who had stopped his struggles and looked blankly at him. He lowered his gun. "Hey, kid, you alright?" He asked.

Greg nodded, slowly, and stood up. He swayed on his feet.

Stokes holstered his gun, ran forward and caught him before he could hit the ground. The faint tang of fresh urine and vomit assaulted his nose. He looked down at the boy in his arms. He couldn't be more than seventeen, eighteen at the most. He was out cold.

Brown walked up behind him. "He alright?" He asked.

Stokes checked his pulse. It was strong, if a bit fluttery. "He's alright, he just fainted. Poor kid," he said, looking over the room. This must have been his family. Was he the lone survivor? "Where the hell is that ambulance?" He asked.

Brown backed up. "It should be here any minute," he said. He looked around the room again, as well. "Fuck, that guy did a number on these people. This shit is pretty gnarly, right here."

Stokes pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously, Rick, could you _not_?" He asked, exasperatedly.

Warrick threw up his hands. "Okay, okay!" He watched as his partner brushed a stray strand of sandy-blond hair from the young man's face. He sighed. "Why are you still holding him, Nick?"

Nick looked up from Greg. "Huh?" He looked back down at Greg and then back up at Warrick. "Oh, um…."

Warrick sighed again. "Put him down. The ambulance should be on it's way." As if to prove his point, the sound of wailing sirens came from outside the house.

"I know!" Nick snapped. "It's just-"

"He looks like Darren, I know. But he's not him. Don't get attached to the vic, Nick."

"Who said I was?"

"You still haven't let him go," Warrick said, ignoring his question.

Nick sighed and gently laid him down as the EMTs made their way into the house. He backed up and let them do their job. He watched as Greg was strapped onto a gurney and wheeled out. He wanted to follow them, but he knew that he had a job to do. He walked over to the other motionless bodies as more EMTs made their way into the house. A couple checked on their perp, while another checked on the other bodies. He walked over to the EMT as she checked for vitals on the man. He seemed to be too butchered up to be alive, but he wasn't a medic, so he didn't really know.

"This one's being pronounce DATS, no pulse," she said to Nick. She wrote something down on a clipboard that she had in her hands. She then moved over to the woman. "This one's DATS, too. No pulse. I can't see any wounds on her, though." She carefully turned the woman over. A cell phone fell out oh the woman's hand. She used he pen to move the phone towards her. "I think we may have found our caller. Last number dialed; 911," she said.

Nick nodded. He was slightly disturbed by the woman's pallor. It was a pasty white, yet there were blue veins showing just under the surface of her skin. She must have been poisoned. He looked up at the EMT to confirm his thoughts.

She nodded, knowing what he was thinking. She wrote something else on her board. She moved over to the smallest member of the group, a little girl. She sighed and brushed the girl's hair out of her face. "Oh, man, she's a definite DATS." She wrote one last thing on her board before she stood up. Nick stood up as well.

"We're gonna need three body bags, two adult's, one child's," she said. "Excuse me."

Nick nodded and moved aside so that she could go around him. He turned around and looked for Warrick. He wasn't far away, talking to a medic. He waited until they stopped talking and the medic walked away. "Brown, you want to search the house, or do you wanna leave it to the rookies and head to the department to get debriefed?" He asked, switching back to Warrick's surname seeing as they were no longer alone.

Warrick shrugged. "I'd rather leave it to the rookies and then go home and get 'debriefed', if you know what I mean," he said, casting a sly glance at his partner.

Nick rolled his eyes. "How can you think about sex after what we've just seen? Seriously, you're gonna develop some sort of complex," he said.

Warrick shrugged. "I can't let what goes on at the crime scene get to me. I'm not immune to it, it's dangerous when you get to the point where stuff like this doesn't bother you anymore. I just lock all of this stuff away in a part of my mind that I don't touch unless I have to."

"Yeah? I need me one of those," Nick said, only half sarcastically. "Grissom's gonna have your ass once he hears that you've been mouthing off on the job again."

Warrick looked off dreamily. "God, I _hope_ so."

Nick shook his head. "You're hopeless." He walked out with Warrick to their patrol car and drove them back to the station.

----

Their debriefing went along without a hitch. Warrick stayed at the station so that he could catch a ride home with Grissom. Nick went home in his own car.

Once home, he showered and got ready for bed. He laid in his bed, but didn't immediately drift off to sleep.

He couldn't get how the boy felt in his arms out of his head. He couldn't let the feeling go. He had to see him again.

TBC?

A/N: Haha, I _know_ that I said that I wasn't going to start another fic, but there you are. Aundrea is actually the name of my cousin (we're the same age). She **_REALLY_** pissed me off, so I killed her off in my story. It's morbid, but I warned her…. **:-\**


End file.
